A/N: Alrighty my fellow trories!!!!!! Here's the fourth installment!! Guess what? EXAMS ARE OVER!!! AND I'M STILL ALIIIIIVEEE!!! Wo, sorry I just needed to get that off my chest ;) This chapter's dedicated to my cousin, Alyssa, who's graduating tonight! I luv ya hun!!!
Special thanks to all you crazy cats! You're the reason why I'm posting all this! Add I noticed that a lot of you guys wised me good luck on my exams! It was so touching! Thank you so much! This one's for all of you too...
Chapter 4:
Insomnia
Two days had past; two days since that fateful meeting in the coffee house. For Rory those days were full of assignments, crazy phone calls from her mother, and anticipation. Anticipation of hearing from Tristan.
Two days and he still hadn't called, and she was worried that he never would. What if she hadn't said the right things? What if he had found someone else?
When she thought about it, Rory had to admit that Tristan didn't seem like the kind of guy who went around collecting phone numbers so that he could keep girls on the back burner just in case his current relationship didn't work out. She smiled just thinking about his quiet, gentle nature and his shy smile. No, he would never do that, she was sure.
Even with that comforting thought, Rory couldn't help but think that she'd done something wrong. After that whole incident with the mug, Rory had sat there staring with her mouth hanging open. How repulsive was that?
She had lingered in the café for a few minutes after Tristan had left and helped Joe, the nice old Italian man who worked behind the counter, clean up the shards of broken glass. She couldn't understand how the accident had happened. Rory reasoned with herself, trying to believe that it was the wind, but she wasn't quite sure. She had bent down to pick up the large shards of glass so that Joe could sweep up the rest and as soon as her fingers cautiously wrapped around the pieces, she felt an eerie chill creep up her spine and found herself looking around the café. She was searching for something; something, but she wasn't quite sure what.
Lately, she'd been getting that feeling a lot. When she was alone in her apartment, which was most of the time, she couldn't help but feel eyes on her and she couldn't ignore that cold feeling that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She kept thinking about that movie, "The Sixth Sense", where that kid said that when it gets cold, it's a sign that ghosts are present.
'Ghosts! Yeah, ok, Rory, you've really got it together.' Rory chided herself; she knew how insane it sounded but there were many times when she looked for something without success only to find it turn up in a different spot days later.
She had wanted to ask her roommate if she'd had any of the same experiences but Rory was pretty sure that Chelsea wouldn't go for that one. There were many times that Rory would call her mom to explain, only to chicken out and hang up or switch to a new topic.
She had asked Joe once; it was the day that she met Tristan, just a couple minutes before he had walked in. Rory had forgotten, but she remembered now, she had just walked up to him and said, "Joe, do you believe in ghosts?"
She didn't elaborate; she didn't need to. Joe was a wise, sweet old man and he wouldn't make her say anything she didn't want to. He studied her for a minute; his deep, intelligent eyes assessing her face and Rory struggled to stay still. But then, his tanned old face crinkled into a smile.
"You know what I believe?" He said. "I believe that there are many powers at work in this world, some good, some bad. But do you know what the strongest one is, bella?"
Rory could only shake her head, awed and incredibly interested by what he was saying to her.
"Amore." Love.
"My mama once told me that it is everywhere, if you look hard enough. And anyone can find it. Just keep your mind and your heart open, and Signora Amore will do the rest."
And Rory felt something stir in her. She knew then that things were about to get interesting.
~~~~~~~~~~
Tristan was exhausted and had been for two days now. There never seemed to be a quiet, peaceful moment in his life. After he left the café that day, he had turned down an alley and ended up coming face to face with a spirit. He was probably around 26 when he died and his nose looked like it had been broken more than once, giving him a tough guy appearance. He suppressed an irritated groan when he saw the glare the young, no-longer-living guy had given him. Two angry ghosts in half an hour, his good fortune, if he'd ever had any, had definitely run out.
The 'guy' pushed him back against the wall and Tristan knew that this one was also powerful and, like Floppy, he was dripping with disdain. But for this one, his anger would be his downfall. The one back at the café knew how to control and direct his anger and power, this one wasn't being careful enough.
"I heard you were different; that you could do things for us. Funny, you don't seem like much." Tristan once again stifled the urge to roll his eyes. It was true that he had a reputation in the spirit plane, but that didn't mean that he was respected or shown any sympathy.
And who was this guy to put him down? Tristan was honestly fed up with this whole mediator thing, but he knew that there was no way to escape it. More than anything, he just wanted to be normal. But he decided to ignore the comment and, with a tired sigh, responded, "What is it that you want?"
"I want you to deliver a message for me." He replied, his voice low and his green eyes full of impatience, anger, and mischief - a bad combination.
"Really? 'Cause I thought you wanted to buy me a cup of tea or something." Tristan couldn't stop the exasperation from leaking into his voice. All he wanted was to go home and sleep for a day. Was that too much to ask?
Apparently, yes. It didn't really matter anyway, Tristan had a severe case of insomnia; he could never sleep. The energy in his apartment was just too powerful. That's all ghosts are, energy. It sounds harmless but once they learn to harness and control that energy that's when they get dangerous. He was always jittery and could never succumb to the peacful world of sleep. He had a habit of jogging in the middle of the night in an attempt to tire himself out enough to the point were he couldn't stay awake but, though it sounded like a good plan, it never worked.
The ghost, who was probably five or six years older than Tristan when he died, as well as a hundred pounds of muscle heavier, well, that plus the added superhuman power, grabbed him by the collar and slammed him back against the wall. Great, not only had he pissed off Popeye here, but now his head was spinning faster than a ceiling fan.
"Don't get smart with me, kid. Either you do it, or face the consequences." If Tristan wasn't in his position, he would have laughed at that. This ghost, who Tristan was guessing was pretty new to the whole Death Zone experience, was giving Tristan the ultimatum. Tristan was perfectly aware of what the spirit could do to him but he was pretty sure he had a lump the size of an apple on the back of his head and he was just too tired to care. Luckily, his will to survive till his next birthday and his common sense quickly humbled him.
"What can I do for you?" He grunted. The ghost seemed to have forgotten that he still had his hands wrapped up in Tristan's shirt and that his fists were practically trying to borrow into his throat. Tristan was finding it hard to breathe.
The ghost smiled and loosened his grip a little. "That's more like it, kid. Glad you see things my way."
Tristan could feel his satisfaction at overpowering him, but he kept his annoyance in check. He might as well deliver the message willingly so that he could go home and rest.
He realized that the ghost had thrown his arm over Tristan's shoulder as if they were best buddies and had started leading them down the alley. "You see, I know this guy, John..."
~~~~~~~
"Get outta here, kid. If you come back again, don't expect to get out alive."
Tristan landed with a soft thump and the door slammed shut behind him. He saw the spirit, Tony was his name, simply laugh and saunter away and he sighed in frustration.
A message! Yeah, sure. Tristan had to tell John that his daughter and Tony had...gotten to know each other really well last Friday before John had him killed. He had no other choice really, Tony had stood behind him with his hand on his shoulder as he sat and fidgeted uncomfortably. John didn't buy Tristan's explanation about being able to speak to the dead, but that did stop the vein in his forehead from looking like it was about to explode. Suddenly, a big, beefy fist, belonging to one of John's big, beefy henchmen, collided with Tristan's face and John thundered:
"Did you hear that from Maria?! I swear if that woman stops gossiping for one second she'll die! Get him outta here," he ordered his men, "and you better not spread that around or I'll hunt you down!"
Dazed and confused, before he knew it, two pairs of hands were hauling him off the floor and, with another punch to his stomach for good measure, threw him out the door.
Tristan groaned in pain and picked himself off the ground, hearing a ghostly laugh fade off into the night. 'I'm glad you thought that was funny, Tony. Anytime you or your friends need a laugh or a punching bag, I'm always available.'
~~~~~
He had eventually made his way home to his tiny apartment in a run down part of town. It was small, but it was all he could afford. Flopping onto his couch lying with his head on an ice pack and another on his cheek, he thought about how ironic it all was. Tristan DuGrey, former King of Chilton, the guy who every guy wanted to be and every girl wanted to be with. He had everything money could buy and he loved it. He was a cocky player, or at least that was the front he put on.
And now, he had been reduced to nothing. Animals wouldn't even stay with him. He had found a cat in an alley once and he felt sorry for the poor thing, recognizing a bit of himself in that worn, lonely survivor. He had brought it home but the spirits that frequented and 'dropped by' his apartment had been too much for Sammy. Animals were like him; they had higher sensory levels than the average human and could see ghosts but the only difference was that while they could get away, he was stuck with them. Sammy stuck around for a day or two but, just like everyone else in his life, ended up leaving him. Now, he was just a lonely guy with a terrible secret; a secret that forced him to live a separate, solitary life.
In high school, he had never once had a serious relationship because he didn't know how. He didn't know how to show someone that he cared and there was this little voice in the back of his mind telling him that no one would be interested in what he had to say and that he would only get hurt.
But he was hurting anyway. There had never been any love, support, or encouragement in his house, only bickering, cheating, and hatred. He'd never understood love; never seen it, but you can't miss what you don't have, right? It can't hurt you. Actually it did hurt, it hurt a lot, but what hurt even more was when he saw love and realized what he had been missing out on. He had seen it sometimes when he delivered messages from ghosts to people they cherished, messages of love that was strong enough to survive death.
Getting up from the couch and making his way toward the bedroom, Tristan thought about how much he wanted someone to love him. Suddenly, he surged forward and his heart skipped a beat. Then he realized that a ghostly presence hadn't pushed him, but that he was just being his normal, clumsy self and had tripped over a book. Bending over to pick it up Tristan read the title and, yet again, his heart skipped a beat.
"Pride and Prejudice."
It was Rory's book. But how did it get here? He could have sworn he placed it on the counter. . .
A light giggle drifted to his ears but he couldn't tell where it came from, it seemed to be all around him.
'Mary.'
She was a little girl of about seven, or had been at one point. She wore a white dress that Tristan guessed was from the 19th century but it was perpetually clean and billowed around her when she spun. Her hair was a mass of coffee coloured curls and she had beautiful dancing blue eyes that were always alive with laughter and mischief. She came and went, playing tricks on him and moving things about. She loved pulling on his shirt and disappearing before he turned around and tugging on his hair and waking him up on when he actually succeeded in falling asleep.
Tristan didn't mind having her around; he enjoyed her company actually. He didn't think of her as a ghost that haunted him; to him she was a bright spirit that visited him and brought him comfort.
He didn't know how she died because she never spoke to him, only giggled. He didn't know why, if she was such a happy spirit, she was stuck on this plane. He was guessing that her family's house had been on the grounds where the apartment buildings now stood and that she had died young. The happiest moments of her life probably happened here and she was too attached to leave.
He opened the book and the pages fluttered for several seconds.
"I'll call her, Mary. I promise I'll call her. Tomorrow."
~~~~~~~
There ya go! I hope you guys liked it! The next chapter's coming up and I promise it'll be Trory-packed (instead of action-packed! Get it? LOL! Yeesh, what a bad joke...) Feel free to pay that little lonely review button a visit! Until next time...
Madz
Special thanks to all you crazy cats! You're the reason why I'm posting all this! Add I noticed that a lot of you guys wised me good luck on my exams! It was so touching! Thank you so much! This one's for all of you too...
Chapter 4:
Insomnia
Two days had past; two days since that fateful meeting in the coffee house. For Rory those days were full of assignments, crazy phone calls from her mother, and anticipation. Anticipation of hearing from Tristan.
Two days and he still hadn't called, and she was worried that he never would. What if she hadn't said the right things? What if he had found someone else?
When she thought about it, Rory had to admit that Tristan didn't seem like the kind of guy who went around collecting phone numbers so that he could keep girls on the back burner just in case his current relationship didn't work out. She smiled just thinking about his quiet, gentle nature and his shy smile. No, he would never do that, she was sure.
Even with that comforting thought, Rory couldn't help but think that she'd done something wrong. After that whole incident with the mug, Rory had sat there staring with her mouth hanging open. How repulsive was that?
She had lingered in the café for a few minutes after Tristan had left and helped Joe, the nice old Italian man who worked behind the counter, clean up the shards of broken glass. She couldn't understand how the accident had happened. Rory reasoned with herself, trying to believe that it was the wind, but she wasn't quite sure. She had bent down to pick up the large shards of glass so that Joe could sweep up the rest and as soon as her fingers cautiously wrapped around the pieces, she felt an eerie chill creep up her spine and found herself looking around the café. She was searching for something; something, but she wasn't quite sure what.
Lately, she'd been getting that feeling a lot. When she was alone in her apartment, which was most of the time, she couldn't help but feel eyes on her and she couldn't ignore that cold feeling that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She kept thinking about that movie, "The Sixth Sense", where that kid said that when it gets cold, it's a sign that ghosts are present.
'Ghosts! Yeah, ok, Rory, you've really got it together.' Rory chided herself; she knew how insane it sounded but there were many times when she looked for something without success only to find it turn up in a different spot days later.
She had wanted to ask her roommate if she'd had any of the same experiences but Rory was pretty sure that Chelsea wouldn't go for that one. There were many times that Rory would call her mom to explain, only to chicken out and hang up or switch to a new topic.
She had asked Joe once; it was the day that she met Tristan, just a couple minutes before he had walked in. Rory had forgotten, but she remembered now, she had just walked up to him and said, "Joe, do you believe in ghosts?"
She didn't elaborate; she didn't need to. Joe was a wise, sweet old man and he wouldn't make her say anything she didn't want to. He studied her for a minute; his deep, intelligent eyes assessing her face and Rory struggled to stay still. But then, his tanned old face crinkled into a smile.
"You know what I believe?" He said. "I believe that there are many powers at work in this world, some good, some bad. But do you know what the strongest one is, bella?"
Rory could only shake her head, awed and incredibly interested by what he was saying to her.
"Amore." Love.
"My mama once told me that it is everywhere, if you look hard enough. And anyone can find it. Just keep your mind and your heart open, and Signora Amore will do the rest."
And Rory felt something stir in her. She knew then that things were about to get interesting.
~~~~~~~~~~
Tristan was exhausted and had been for two days now. There never seemed to be a quiet, peaceful moment in his life. After he left the café that day, he had turned down an alley and ended up coming face to face with a spirit. He was probably around 26 when he died and his nose looked like it had been broken more than once, giving him a tough guy appearance. He suppressed an irritated groan when he saw the glare the young, no-longer-living guy had given him. Two angry ghosts in half an hour, his good fortune, if he'd ever had any, had definitely run out.
The 'guy' pushed him back against the wall and Tristan knew that this one was also powerful and, like Floppy, he was dripping with disdain. But for this one, his anger would be his downfall. The one back at the café knew how to control and direct his anger and power, this one wasn't being careful enough.
"I heard you were different; that you could do things for us. Funny, you don't seem like much." Tristan once again stifled the urge to roll his eyes. It was true that he had a reputation in the spirit plane, but that didn't mean that he was respected or shown any sympathy.
And who was this guy to put him down? Tristan was honestly fed up with this whole mediator thing, but he knew that there was no way to escape it. More than anything, he just wanted to be normal. But he decided to ignore the comment and, with a tired sigh, responded, "What is it that you want?"
"I want you to deliver a message for me." He replied, his voice low and his green eyes full of impatience, anger, and mischief - a bad combination.
"Really? 'Cause I thought you wanted to buy me a cup of tea or something." Tristan couldn't stop the exasperation from leaking into his voice. All he wanted was to go home and sleep for a day. Was that too much to ask?
Apparently, yes. It didn't really matter anyway, Tristan had a severe case of insomnia; he could never sleep. The energy in his apartment was just too powerful. That's all ghosts are, energy. It sounds harmless but once they learn to harness and control that energy that's when they get dangerous. He was always jittery and could never succumb to the peacful world of sleep. He had a habit of jogging in the middle of the night in an attempt to tire himself out enough to the point were he couldn't stay awake but, though it sounded like a good plan, it never worked.
The ghost, who was probably five or six years older than Tristan when he died, as well as a hundred pounds of muscle heavier, well, that plus the added superhuman power, grabbed him by the collar and slammed him back against the wall. Great, not only had he pissed off Popeye here, but now his head was spinning faster than a ceiling fan.
"Don't get smart with me, kid. Either you do it, or face the consequences." If Tristan wasn't in his position, he would have laughed at that. This ghost, who Tristan was guessing was pretty new to the whole Death Zone experience, was giving Tristan the ultimatum. Tristan was perfectly aware of what the spirit could do to him but he was pretty sure he had a lump the size of an apple on the back of his head and he was just too tired to care. Luckily, his will to survive till his next birthday and his common sense quickly humbled him.
"What can I do for you?" He grunted. The ghost seemed to have forgotten that he still had his hands wrapped up in Tristan's shirt and that his fists were practically trying to borrow into his throat. Tristan was finding it hard to breathe.
The ghost smiled and loosened his grip a little. "That's more like it, kid. Glad you see things my way."
Tristan could feel his satisfaction at overpowering him, but he kept his annoyance in check. He might as well deliver the message willingly so that he could go home and rest.
He realized that the ghost had thrown his arm over Tristan's shoulder as if they were best buddies and had started leading them down the alley. "You see, I know this guy, John..."
~~~~~~~
"Get outta here, kid. If you come back again, don't expect to get out alive."
Tristan landed with a soft thump and the door slammed shut behind him. He saw the spirit, Tony was his name, simply laugh and saunter away and he sighed in frustration.
A message! Yeah, sure. Tristan had to tell John that his daughter and Tony had...gotten to know each other really well last Friday before John had him killed. He had no other choice really, Tony had stood behind him with his hand on his shoulder as he sat and fidgeted uncomfortably. John didn't buy Tristan's explanation about being able to speak to the dead, but that did stop the vein in his forehead from looking like it was about to explode. Suddenly, a big, beefy fist, belonging to one of John's big, beefy henchmen, collided with Tristan's face and John thundered:
"Did you hear that from Maria?! I swear if that woman stops gossiping for one second she'll die! Get him outta here," he ordered his men, "and you better not spread that around or I'll hunt you down!"
Dazed and confused, before he knew it, two pairs of hands were hauling him off the floor and, with another punch to his stomach for good measure, threw him out the door.
Tristan groaned in pain and picked himself off the ground, hearing a ghostly laugh fade off into the night. 'I'm glad you thought that was funny, Tony. Anytime you or your friends need a laugh or a punching bag, I'm always available.'
~~~~~
He had eventually made his way home to his tiny apartment in a run down part of town. It was small, but it was all he could afford. Flopping onto his couch lying with his head on an ice pack and another on his cheek, he thought about how ironic it all was. Tristan DuGrey, former King of Chilton, the guy who every guy wanted to be and every girl wanted to be with. He had everything money could buy and he loved it. He was a cocky player, or at least that was the front he put on.
And now, he had been reduced to nothing. Animals wouldn't even stay with him. He had found a cat in an alley once and he felt sorry for the poor thing, recognizing a bit of himself in that worn, lonely survivor. He had brought it home but the spirits that frequented and 'dropped by' his apartment had been too much for Sammy. Animals were like him; they had higher sensory levels than the average human and could see ghosts but the only difference was that while they could get away, he was stuck with them. Sammy stuck around for a day or two but, just like everyone else in his life, ended up leaving him. Now, he was just a lonely guy with a terrible secret; a secret that forced him to live a separate, solitary life.
In high school, he had never once had a serious relationship because he didn't know how. He didn't know how to show someone that he cared and there was this little voice in the back of his mind telling him that no one would be interested in what he had to say and that he would only get hurt.
But he was hurting anyway. There had never been any love, support, or encouragement in his house, only bickering, cheating, and hatred. He'd never understood love; never seen it, but you can't miss what you don't have, right? It can't hurt you. Actually it did hurt, it hurt a lot, but what hurt even more was when he saw love and realized what he had been missing out on. He had seen it sometimes when he delivered messages from ghosts to people they cherished, messages of love that was strong enough to survive death.
Getting up from the couch and making his way toward the bedroom, Tristan thought about how much he wanted someone to love him. Suddenly, he surged forward and his heart skipped a beat. Then he realized that a ghostly presence hadn't pushed him, but that he was just being his normal, clumsy self and had tripped over a book. Bending over to pick it up Tristan read the title and, yet again, his heart skipped a beat.
"Pride and Prejudice."
It was Rory's book. But how did it get here? He could have sworn he placed it on the counter. . .
A light giggle drifted to his ears but he couldn't tell where it came from, it seemed to be all around him.
'Mary.'
She was a little girl of about seven, or had been at one point. She wore a white dress that Tristan guessed was from the 19th century but it was perpetually clean and billowed around her when she spun. Her hair was a mass of coffee coloured curls and she had beautiful dancing blue eyes that were always alive with laughter and mischief. She came and went, playing tricks on him and moving things about. She loved pulling on his shirt and disappearing before he turned around and tugging on his hair and waking him up on when he actually succeeded in falling asleep.
Tristan didn't mind having her around; he enjoyed her company actually. He didn't think of her as a ghost that haunted him; to him she was a bright spirit that visited him and brought him comfort.
He didn't know how she died because she never spoke to him, only giggled. He didn't know why, if she was such a happy spirit, she was stuck on this plane. He was guessing that her family's house had been on the grounds where the apartment buildings now stood and that she had died young. The happiest moments of her life probably happened here and she was too attached to leave.
He opened the book and the pages fluttered for several seconds.
"I'll call her, Mary. I promise I'll call her. Tomorrow."
~~~~~~~
There ya go! I hope you guys liked it! The next chapter's coming up and I promise it'll be Trory-packed (instead of action-packed! Get it? LOL! Yeesh, what a bad joke...) Feel free to pay that little lonely review button a visit! Until next time...
Madz